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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26638459">i will wait for you (to love me again)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woahsos/pseuds/Woahsos'>Woahsos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>it!sos [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>5 Seconds of Summer (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5sos as the losers club, Canon-Typical Violence, Content warnings in the notes, Fuck Stephen King, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, NO DEATH, Slow Burn, ashton is bill, ashton's an author, bc that's how stephen king writes it, calum is mike, calum works in a library, i guess??, luke is eddie, luke's like a celebrity chauffer bc wtf is a risk analyst, michael is richie, michael's a musical comedian like bo burnham, pls read through those, that's only relevant for like the first half, the "it" by stephen king au nobody asked for, there are also some childhood flashbacks, this is all third person pov but it switches like who it follows quite frequently, this is written under the assumption that you know the premise of it, what tags do i even add</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:33:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26638459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woahsos/pseuds/Woahsos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His heart has almost slowed when his phone rings again. He answers, exasperated, “Myra, I told you-”<br/>“Luke? Luke Hemmings?” A distantly familiar voice, definitely not Myra, fills the space of the car. It’s warm and low, a male, and it sounds like home, whatever that means. He quickly glances at the number flashing on the dashboard, but he doesn’t recognize it, doesn’t even recognize the area code.<br/>“Who is this?” He asks, that familiar shake coming to his voice. Nausea is creeping up on him. A child running down the sidewalk with a balloon catches his eye and he loses his breath.<br/>“Calum Hood. We used to be friends, back when you lived in Derry." </p><p>or</p><p>my niche "it" by stephen king and 5sos crossover</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Luke Hemmings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>it!sos [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i will wait for you (to love me again)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>CONTENT WARNINGS: if you've read or seen "it" then you basically know the content warnings. there's some violence in the fights with pennywise, mentions of blood, a few injuries, a little bit of homophobia (including internalized) that's only loosely alluded to, luke does not have the healthiest relationship with his mother or wife, though that is not really touched on much. there's two scenes that include vomit coming from non-human characters. lonliness, grief, depression, and anxiety are alluded to or mentioned. if i have missed anything, please please let me know!<br/>i hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s past two in the morning and Calum Hood is still sitting in the library that he manages. The only light comes from the small lamp on his desk, and every creak from the wind makes him jump. His eyes burn from strain and exhaustion, and the words on the pages in front of him blur together to create images that haunt his every waking memory. Images of burning buildings and lepers and headless children. The shadows thrown by the looming bookshelves taunt him, call to him, tease him with things from his childhood that he’s sure the others have forgotten about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This has been going on for weeks; spending sleepless nights at the library, books and journals strewn across the desk and the constant threat of a headache always a moment away. But he’s doing important research that nobody else would be willing to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His days are spent talking to the older folk of Derry, Maine, asking about strange events of the town. He sits in unstable wicker chairs and listens to the tales of unexplained building explosions, racially charged arson crimes, people who were always known to be kind and complacent suddenly losing their cool and slaughtering the patrons of a bar. He learns about Henry Bowers family, and their long history of mania, abuse, and violence. Journals upon journals are filled with these stories, along with Calum’s own notes on them, trying to draw connections between it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His nights are spent doing a different type of research in the library. He reads through every Derry newspaper that the library has archived, pulls books off shelves that have to do with the paranormal or the unexplained. Notes are taken from those as well, but these notes are more for his own sanity. They’re trying to help him prove that he can stop this. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>can stop this, for good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s bordering on obsessive, and anyone on the outside would surely label him crazy. Maybe he is. He doesn’t know at this point. What he does know is that he has to do this, has to come up with a solution before it happens, before It comes. After all, it’s been 27 years, and every day, every missing kid poster that goes up that nobody does anything about, Calum’s heart gets weaker and weaker and he finds it harder to breathe. Because he thought that it was over. He thought that the summer of ‘89 would be the last time that the children of Derry had to live in fear of being dragged down sewers or taken from their secret hiding spots. Clearly, he was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he finishes pulling together his notes from that day, he knows what business he has to take care of next. Business that he would rather not have to deal with, but deep in his heart knows has to be done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up his phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>

  <span>Luke Hemmings is trying very hard not to get overwhelmed amidst the New York City traffic. He runs through the list of medications he took this morning, reassuring himself that he remembered his anxiety medicine. Although, he reckons it would be hard to forget with Myra constantly in his ear, reminding him of every bottle that sits in their bathroom cabinet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Did you remember your anti-inflammatory meds, Lukey?” “Don’t forget you need to refill your ibuprofen, Lukey!” “You still have that bottle of aspirin in your car, Lukey, right?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to remind himself that he loves Myra, that’s why he married her. Myra is safe, she takes care of him, he knows he’ll never be sick or in pain with Myra. Things are never unexpected with Myra, like they would be if Luke had married...someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The image of brightly dyed hair flashes through Luke’s mind, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone, connected to the bluetooth in his car, starts ringing before he can try to bring the images back, even though he knows it wouldn’t work anyways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He answers, and Myra’s voice is screeching through the speakers, “Lukey-bear, I think you forgot your inhaler! You have to come back and get it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s heart races in an unpleasant way, but it skips when he looks at the time projected on his dashboard. “I can’t, Myra, I’m already running late. Besides, I’m sure I have an extra in the car." His voice sounds weak to his own ears, never able to stand his ground, always bending to the will of those more powerful than him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have an asthma attack, Lukey! You know how you can get, how fragile your poor little lungs are! Work can’t be more important than that!” She screeches, just like a hawk. And it’s not just Myra’s voice anymore, it’s his mothers, yelling at him to refill his inhaler, he’ll have an asthma attack, he’s such a fragile little boy, the doctors don’t understand. But that’s also gone as quickly as it came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, when you're driving Brad Pitt to his next shoot, it’s pretty important, hun," He tries to go for a light-hearted tone, but it’s shaky and flat. His hands tighten on the wheel. Myra starts talking again, and it’s giving Luke a headache so he’s quick to say, “It’s dangerous to talk while driving, don’t want anything to happen, love you, bye!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lukey</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” breaks through the speakers before he presses the </span>
  <em>
    <span>end call </span>
  </em>
  <span>button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath, feels the familiar leather of the wheel beneath his hands and allows it to ground him. His heart has almost slowed when his phone rings again. He answers, exasperated, “Myra, I told you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke? Luke Hemmings?” A distantly familiar voice, definitely not Myra, fills the space of the car. It’s warm and low, a male, and it sounds like home, whatever that means. He quickly glances at the number flashing on the dashboard, but he doesn’t recognize it, doesn’t even recognize the area code.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is this?” He asks, that familiar shake coming to his voice. Nausea is creeping up on him. A child running down the sidewalk with a balloon catches his eye and he loses his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calum Hood. We used to be friends, back when you lived in Derry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More images, solid this time, flash rapidly through Luke’s head. Him and Calum, scrawny but tough Calum Hood, riding their bikes and going for ice cream, sitting in the grass with two other people, though they’re much fuzzier. He remembers Calum carrying him once, and he’s screaming in pain, holding his arm, and Calum is panicked but he’s telling Luke that everything’s going to be alright, he won’t let anything else happen to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s heart in his throat and his eyes burn with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calum Hood,” He breathes out, and a small smile graces his face, “I remember you. What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to come back,” Calum says, which is definitely not what Luke was expecting, “It’s back."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It had pushed Luke through the hole in the second-story floor of the house on Neibolt. He fell weird, landed wrong. That’s what happened to his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke is hit with overwhelming terror. The car is suddenly freezing, but he’s sweating and he feels faint. The palm of his right hand burns, and he hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke?” Calum asks, “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of answering, Luke takes his hand off the wheel and looks at his palm. Where the skin was once smooth and unblemished, there is now a marred, raised line that goes diagonally across his entire palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What-” Luke breathes, and it’s too much. The memories, the fear, Calum, the scar, it’s all swirling around Luke’s mind and he doesn’t notice the car barrelling towards his passenger side until it hits and he spins off into the middle of the intersection, miraculously unscathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke?” He hears, warbled through the damaged speakers once the ringing in his ears has stopped, “What happened? Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m late to pick up Brad Pitt," He says, letting his head fall back against the seat. He’s not sure what compels him, but he says, “I’ll pack tonight."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burning of his palm flares up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Michael Clifford has just finished his latest show. He’s currently in Chicago, touring for his musical comedy act, and the sounds of the cheering crowd is still echoing in his ears when he gets back to his hotel room for the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plan is to spend the night celebrating with video games and beer, the proper way to congratulate himself for not fucking up any of the chords during his song about small town living. His production team, and the crowd, thought the song was hilarious, the way he made fun of suburban dads who are distant and berating, and the boys who thrive in creativity as kids but end up just like their parents eventually, and the kids that everyone forgets about. All jokes about things too close to his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure what had compelled him to write the song, but it was one of his best. It was written early in the morning, his insomnia preventing him from sleeping at all that night. He was just listening to music when visions of curly golden hair flashed behind his eyes, and almost in a manic state he had written the entire song in one sitting. The original paper had holes torn throughout it from how viciously he had written it all down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it didn’t matter; the song was a hit, he was a genius, nobody suspected a thing about him, and life was fucking great. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe earlier in his career he would’ve celebrated with going out. Bar-hopping until he forgot the feeling of being weighed down during the day and remembered the feeling of lightness and glee that only came to him in fleeting dreams. Maybe he’d bring someone back to his hotel, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with it, never was, but he wouldn’t be so alone. Now, though, he was content with his cheap alcohol and zombie-killing skills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s just settling down with his first beer when his phone rings from where it rests on his pillow. It’s his agent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello hello," He says, popping in his game and settling back against the headboard, hoping that this phone call will be over quickly so he can spend the night relaxing. Or, at least some semblance of relaxing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve booked you for a talk show this weekend. Jimmy Fallon," His agent says, straight to business. He likes that about her; she’s a friend when he needs it, but always quick to remind him that, first and foremost, they work together. And Michael would be utterly lost without her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, he thinks he could deal with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh,” He groans, banging his head back against the headboard which, okay, ouch. Maybe he should save the theatrics for the stage, “You know I don’t like talk shows. Especially him! He’s so fake." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” She says, sounding only slightly sympathetic, “But if you want your album sales to go up, you have to."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s right. Michael knows she’s right, but he doesn’t have to like it, “Am I actually a guest or am I just doing a song?” He could handle a song. If he only has to do a song, then he can hide backstage the rest of the time and ignore the awkward, forced conversations-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a guest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hangs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’ll call back, in a few minutes, when he’s done being dramatic. He just needs time to breathe, and to mentally prepare himself for this weekend. More images of golden hair flash through his head, this time paired with bright blue eyes, and he feels at peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the blue eyes turn watery, the sound of pained cries fill his ears, and then there’s a bridge, a set of initials scratched into it, and Michael feels sick. He sits up, but the images are gone. He reaches desperately for them, to no avail, there’s no bringing back the angel that has plagued his drunken or depressed thoughts for the better part of his adult life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone rings again and it is way too soon for her to be calling back, he can’t deal with it now. “Listen,” He says as soon as he picks up, “Tell that fucking cock-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael Clifford?” A male voice reaches his ears through the phone speakers. He pulls his phone back, only to see an unrecognizable number. But that voice. It made something in the back of Michael’s mind settle, and he felt like he was able to take a deep breath for the first time in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s this?” He asks, trying to sound collected and chill. He thinks he pulls it off pretty well, but his hands are shaking slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calum Hood. We were best friends, back in Derry. Us, and Luke, and Ashton," Calum says, and some of it comes back to Michael.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers laughing with Calum so hard they cried, listening to music in Michael’s room while his parents were out, remembers saving Calum from Bowers once. The light feeling comes back, without the alcohol, bursts in Micheal’s stomach. He remembers golden hair, yet again, and his heart swells. He can’t entirely remember Luke or Ashton, but he remembers Calum like he had never forgotten in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calum Hood," Michael repeats, “I remember. To what do I owe this phone call? Reminiscing on old times?” Michael jokes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The joke doesn’t land when Calum says, “27 years ago, you made a promise. We all did."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael feels sick, suddenly. His stomach is glaringly hollow and his forehead has broken out in a cold sweat. He remembers, constantly looking over his shoulder, afraid of his secret getting out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t touch the other boys, Michael</span>
  </em>
  <span> It had said when he had reached for someone’s arm </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t touch them or they’ll know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s hand burns. He curses under his breath and brings it to rest on his thigh, palm up. The skin of his palm is raised in a diagonal scar. Bile rises in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael,” Calum’s voice cuts through his waking nightmare, bringing him back to the hard mattress in his nice hotel room, “I need you to make good on that promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s the familiarity of Calum’s voice, or the fact of finally finding this fucking golden hair that haunts his dreams, or maybe it’s just because he really does not want to be on Jimmy Fallon this weekend. Whatever it is, Michael hears himself say, “Yeah, I’ll fly out tonight."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashton Irwin is on set for the next movie adaptation of one of his books, and he has a pounding headache. There’s a director screaming in his ear about how his ending made no sense, left too much unanswered, that doesn’t fly in Hollywood, they had to make up for it somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand that,” Ashton explains, for the tenth time, rubbing at his temples, “But if she goes back with him, it defeats the whole purpose of her arc."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what do you suggest we do?” The director asks, though Ashton can tell he absolutely does not care what Ashton suggests they do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well he’s supposed to die anyways. He’s meant to die at the beginning of the third act, but you’ve almost completely erased that too!” And Ashton’s raising his voice now, which does not help his headache, but he’s frustrated. He has no idea why he keeps agreeing to let people turn his books into movies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The extra money is nice, Ash </span>
  </em>
  <span>Audra’s voice echoes in the back of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yes, the extra money is nice, though they definitely have enough due to Ashton being one of the most credible authors in the horror genre. A little extra never hurt, though, maybe saving it for the kids him and Audra might have one day. But that doesn’t ease his frustration, especially since he knows what the director’s going to say next. He’s going to tell Ashton that his-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-books are too long! That’s another thing! Most people do not like sitting through three hour movies anymore."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton can’t argue this point again, so he walks away and locks himself in an unoccupied dressing room. He sits on the couch in the room and tries to remember breathing exercises he does to ground himself during yoga. It works for a moment. The steady counting in his head and the full breaths filling his lungs. On one breath in, he inhales the scent of moss, wet grass, and the sound of a stream fills his ears, paired with the sounds of children laughing. Children that sound like him, and other voices as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a knock on the door and the mirage is lost. Ashton longs for it, though he could not explain why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in," He says, and Audra pokes her head in through the door. Looking around, he realizes this is her dressing room, which is probably why he sought it out. This is the fifth movie she’s starred in that’s based on his work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sits down on the couch next to him and takes his hand. In her quiet, ever-soothing voice, she says, “The movie’s going to be great, Ash, people are going to love it. They always love your work."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not when the work is so mangled it loses its intended meaning," He complains. The one thing he’s always prided himself on is writing horror that people still find ways to connect with, and the movies completely destroy that. His books are about loss and grief, dealing with it, dealing with personal battles. They may not always have a happy ending, which he gets a lot of shit for, but there’s still something to take away from them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then they’ll defend your original work online," Audra says, and she smiles, which makes Ashton smile. He thinks he loves Audra, he really does. She’s a really good friend to him, and he thinks that’s all he could ever need.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A picture of dark hair and crinkled eyes flashes through his mind and fizzles out before he can think that Audra has red hair. Strawberry red hair, if Ashton were to write about her, which he has. It never gets published though, it’s never any good and he knows it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea how you do it," Audra says, pulling Ashton from his thoughts. He gives her a questioning hum. “How you write so much, and about such strange and awful things. I know some of it must come from Georgie. But the other stuff? It’s wild, Ash."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Georgie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The name rings through his head like the aftermath of a mine going off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Georgie, his younger brother who died when they were kids. Despite how fuzzy everything else from Ashton’s youth is, he’s never forgotten Georige. Couldn’t if he tried. Though he can never piece together how it happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he remembers is a sewer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone vibrates from inside his pocket, startling them both. Pulling it out, he’s skeptical when he sees a number that he doesn’t recognize. But something in him pushes him to answer it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” He asks. Audra leans away slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ashton Irwin?” The voice on the other end shakes, like this call is a big deal for them. It should make him nervous, but the voice tugs on his heart, something about the way it says his name.</span>
</p><p><span>“Yes. How can I help you?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“My name is Calum Hood. We were...From Derry?” He sounds unsure. But he says his name and that dark hair from earlier comes back to Ashton. He remembers him and Calum sitting in the Quarry together, sitting in their underground hiding spot that all of them had built, alone together, sitting on the hammock and dreaming of getting out of Derry. Together.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Calum," He breathes. Audra glances at him, and something in her face falls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“27 years ago. Do you remember?” Calum asks, and Ashton does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old house on Neibolt, the broken bottle on all of their palms, Bowers, two other kids with them, all of them in the sewers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Georgie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s hand burns. He doesn’t look; he knows what he’ll find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to come back," Calum says, and he sounds desperate, like he needs Ashton back for more reasons than the one they’re talking about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton suddenly needs to go back for all of those reasons as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the others?” He asks, “Luke and Michael?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember?” Calum asks back, but then he chuckles, “Of course you remember. We could always count on you to remember, Ash," The nickname sounds different coming from his mouth than it does coming from Audra’s. It makes Ashton’s heart flutter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they coming as well?” Ashton asks, more directly. Audra leans closer to him, concerned. He pays her no attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I called them earlier. They’re coming."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton swallows. He barely remembered Derry, but a large part of him has always dreaded going back, even if he didn’t know that he would be. The Derry sewers were filled with nightmares, the posts piled high with posters that read MISSING reeked of hopelessness, and Ashton imagines that not much has changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Calum needs him. Luke and Michael need him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Georgie </span>
  </em>
  <span>needs him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll be there as soon as I can,"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Jade of the Orient restaurant is fairly packed, which is normal for a Friday night. Calum figured that meeting there was a safe bet, the right mix of not being too intimate and daunting without also being overwhelming. He’s there half an hour earlier than he told the others to meet him, figuring he needs to psyche himself up to ask them to stay and revisit the darkest part of all their childhoods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if the rest of them can’t remember, Calum’snever forgotten. He’s haunted by nightmares, every shadow or person who smiles wrongly at him on the street is a threat. Talking to people is difficult because it never feels like it did with Michael, Luke, and Ashton; Calum doesn’t see the point if it doesn’t have that same connection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the others have moved on. Calum’s read Ashton’s books and seen Michael’s special on Netflix. He assumes Luke has built a life for himself as well, and he doesn’t want to ruin whatever peace the three of them have found. And he knows that they had promised, but that was so long ago. They were only kids. What if they all say no and went back home, leaving Calum behind again? The thought makes him want to puke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lost in his anxiety, he doesn’t realize how much time has passed until someone in front of him clears their throat. He lifts his head and is met with blonde curls he would recognize anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke," He breaths, unable to stop the smile that breaks out on his face. He’s comforted when Luke smiles back, albeit shyly, just like he had when they first became friends. Nostalgia rushes through Calum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands up and pulls Luke into a hug, the boy reciprocating more than Calum thought he would. Luke clings to him, grips his shirt like the world will end if they let go. He pushes his face further into Calum’s neck; Calum rests his cheek against the top of Luke’s head, subtly (hopefully) sniffing his hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mint</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just like he used as a kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their moment’s ruined by another voice at the entrance to their private dining room, “Well, you two got hot. What the fuck happened to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum would know that voice anywhere, knows it as well as his own. He separates to find the familiar sight of his smiling best friend. “Michael. You look just like the punk bitch you always wanted to be," He laughs, pulling the bleach-blond boy into a hug as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true. From the combat boots to the black work pants and denim jacket, Michael looked exactly like the guys in those 90s grunge magazines they used to look at as a kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than looking like a grandpa. The fucks with the cardigan, man?” Michael jokes, pulling away much sooner than Luke had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, Luke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael, Luke, hopefully you guys remember each other," He says. Turning back, Luke’s face is bright pink, and he’s fiddling with his hands like he did when they were in school and he had to talk in front of the class. Michael’s not faring much better when Calum spares him a glance, looking like he’s found the answer to all his prayers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seems to snap out of it quickly enough, replacing his stunned expression with a smirk, “Luke Hemmings. How could I forget?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke laughs a little, a genuinely surprised and happy laugh. He’s not fidgeting anymore, instead just holding his hands loosely clasped in front of him. That also doesn’t last long, though, as Michael reaches in to hug Luke. It’s gentle, much more tender than the hug Calum had shared with either boy and he suddenly feels like he’s looking at something private. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns back towards the entryway, hoping to see the face that he’s the least prepared to see. And, although nobody’s there yet, his heart leaps in his throat at the thought that he’ll be there soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s not faring much better, hiding to the side of the doorway where he can hear Michael and Luke’s voices. He’s not ready, not by a longshot, but he knows he has to reveal himself eventually. He promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he steps around the corner, clearing his throat, and silence falls. He takes in the residents of the room; Michael looks elated, the same boyish grin taking over his face that he wore when they were 14 and 15 years old. Luke looks awestruck, clearly still holding on to the idolization all the boys felt for Ashton at one point or another, Luke more than the others because he was the youngest and shyest, and Ashton was so mature and brave in Luke’s eyes. And Calum-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking into Calum Hood’s eyes after 27 years, Ashton is struck with the memory of when they first met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Him, Luke, and Michael are at the quarry, where they usually are after school. They’re not doing much, just sitting around and talking about the people at school they don’t like, and the ones they wish would notice them. Michael’s been going on about some red-head girl from one of their classes and Luke’s looked heartbroken the entire time, though none of them can understand why yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A distressed, broken cry of, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” rips through the air and, before they can even think of what they’re doing, all three of them shoot to their feet and race down one of the grassy hills to the stream that cuts through the entire area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stopping on the edge of one of the rock steps, they find a boy on his hands and knees on one of the slabs out in the middle of the shallow water. His clothes are tattered and streaked with blood, which seems to be coming from a gash near his shoulder, his dark hair shields his face, and his stick-thin arms shake as he tries to hold himself up. Ashton looks up when he hears more voices, seeing Henry Bowers and his gang standing on the rocks that sit at the other end of the stream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go get him," Ashton gently demands, pushing at Michael’s shoulders, who quickly wades out and grabs the boy by his shoulder, pulling him up and taking him back to Ashton and Luke. The boys wide, brown eyes meet Ashton’s, and the whole world seems to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until Bowers brings it all crashing down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Trashmouth!” He shouts, addressing Michael, “Peep on anymore guys in the locker room today, fag?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, it’s Luke, quiet, anxiety ridden Luke who can barely talk to his own mother sometimes, who yells back, “Fuck off, Bowers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, don’t try so hard, Lukey,” A heinous, devilish smirk takes over Henry’s face, one that makes all four boys’ stomachs sink, “I’m sure he’d blow you if you ask nicely enough."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before Ashton can tell them to leave it, to just walk away like they always do, Michael picks up the nearest rock and chucks it, hitting Henry Bowers directly in the stomach. Ashton hears both Luke and the boy that they’ve taken in gasp, as Bowers raises his head with a look that will surely kill them all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And because Michael is Michael, he shouts, “Rock war!” and starts throwing any rock he gets his hands on, leading them all to do the same. Ashton feels a few graze by his arms, and he sees one hit Luke’s chest, though the small, asthmatic boy doesn’t even seem fazed, not ceasing his rein of rocks, with an expression on his face that Ashton hasn’t seen before. It’s rage, pure, unbridled rage that’s clearly been festering for a while, and pride swells in Ashton’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It positively bursts when Luke catches Bowers right in the forehead, sending him on his ass and drawing blood. The rest of his gang retreat, leaving nothing but the shell of Henry Bowers, broken and shaken, on the stone</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole!” Michael yells, sticking up both middle fingers. And with that, they walk away.</span>
</p><p><span>“Thank you,” The unknown boy speaks from beside Ashton, “But you shouldn’t  have done that. Now he’ll just be after you too."</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Bowers?” Michael asks from in front of them, “Nah, he’s always after us."</span></p><p>
  <span>“It was really no problem," Ashton says, impressing himself with how firm his voice sounds despite how shaky his chest feels, “What’s your name?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calum," The boy smiles at him, and Ashton feels fireworks going off in his head, the big, colorful fireworks that they set off at the county fair every year, that you watch while eating popcorn that’s too salty or cotton candy that’s too sugary. The best kind of fireworks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the Loser’s Club, Calum," Michael grins, now walking backwards so he can look at Calum. Calum smiles and tilts his head to the ground, and Ashton thinks that everything in his short life has been leading up to this moment of Calum becoming one of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>27 years later, and nothing has changed. Ashton would still do anything for Calum, would save him from Bowers a hundred times over if it meant getting to look into his eyes for the rest of eternity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi," He breathes, stepping into the room more. Both his and Calum’s hearts pick up, syncing, pulling them closer until Ashton is standing right in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You came," Calum whispers. He’s smiling, and his eyes aren’t meeting Ashton’s but Ashton can’t think of where exactly they’re looking or he’ll forget about the wedding ring resting on his left hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s about to respond when a loud, reverberating bang rings through the room. Both men abruptly turn to where Michael and Luke are standing by the gong in the corner of the room, Luke looking at Michael like no one else is in the room, Michael holding the mallet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright," He says, and the charge in the room explodes when Michael continues, “This meeting of the Loser’s Club has officially begun." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their shot glasses clink together for the third time that night, and Michael shoots his back without using his hands. Luke pointedly does not look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so Luke, you got married?” Michael asks through a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And nothing has changed since they were kids; heat courses through Luke every time Michael addresses him directly, and he has the overwhelming, conflicting desires to both impress Michael and tamper down every feeling he harbors towards the other boy. He takes a sip of his water and responds, “Yeah. Why’s that so fucking funny, dickwad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, to like a woman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you," Luke responds, though there’s really not much heat behind it and Michael absolutely cackles. More fire runs through Luke’s veins and he has to take another drink of his water before the heat leaks out all over the table for everyone to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, what about you, Trashmouth?” Ashton cuts through, “Are you married?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke owes his soul from every lifetime possible to Ashton for constantly saving him from awful conversations. Usually with Michael.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no way Michael’s married!” Calum shouts, almost knocking over his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I got married," Michael says, earnestly. Luke's heart drops, tears build behind his eyes but he can’t let it show, can’t let any of them see, especially not Michael. Still has to hide. Always hiding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” He asks, at the same time that Calum says, “I don’t believe you for a second."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you didn’t know I got married?” Michael asks, making direct eye contact with Luke, the absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucker</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He has to know, has to feel the despair rolling off Luke in waves and Luke can feel his throat tighten, itches for his inhaler but that would surely give him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” He responds, hoping his voice isn’t as small as he thinks it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, yeah, me and your mom are very happy together," Michael responds, finally breaking out in a smile as Ashton spits his drink back in his glass and Calum almost knocks over the whole goddamn table with how hard he laughs. Luke just rolls his eyes to cover up the relief that knocks through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” Ashton’s firm, demanding voice cuts through the chaos, “I propose a toast. To the Loser’s Club," He holds up his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To the Loser’s Club," They all chorus, clinking their glasses together. All four of them can feel it, the connection from their youth that’s always been lingering there, waiting to be rekindled. It fills them all to the brink with elation and joy, that sense of belonging that they felt as children. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s a lull in the conversation and Calum knows he has to break the peace now or he never will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um," He starts, and they all turn to look at him, “I think you all know why I called you here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tense silence falls over the room. Luke turns his head to look at the table, and Calum can tell that his breathing has gotten a bit shorter. He moves to rest his hand on Luke’s leg, but Luke pulls back, curling in on himself. Calum’s heart aches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s back," He starts again, more determined, “And I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but you all knew when I called you why you’d be coming back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck do you mean it’s back?” Michael cuts in. He’s scared, Calum can tell, but he’s masking it with anger, “We killed it. 27 years ago, in the sewers."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum takes a deep breath. He knew it would be difficult to get them to go along with this but that didn’t make it any easier. “Well, we didn’t, apparently. It’s back, which we all knew was  a possibility. We made an oath, that if It wasn’t dead, we would come back. We need to stick to it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Michael’s looking at the table as well, breathing hard. Ashton’s the only one looking at Calum now, which doesn’t help the pressure building in his chest. He can’t read the look on Ashton’s face; he thinks there’s fear and maybe acceptance but he can’t tell, can’t read Ashton like he once could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he knows he’ll be able to, if they stay. And maybe it’s selfish to want them all to stay, not just to make good on their promise, but for him. Because they could rebuild their connection and maybe they would all see what they left behind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>they left behind, and Calum won’t be so alone anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck," Michael mutters, reaching for one of the fortune cookies in the middle of the table. He cracks it open and grimaces, “Well, this place has shit fortune cookies. Mine just says ‘for.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke reaches for one next, pulling out the slip of paper. “Did they fuck up a whole batch?” He asks, “Mine says ‘waited.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum and Ashton share a glance and reach for their cookies at the same time. Cracking his open, Calum feels bile rise in his throat when he reads the singular word printed on the slip of paper: </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton sets his down on the table, grabbing everyone else’s and arranging them so that they can all read what it says.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve waited for you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh what the fuck," Michael says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke puts his head in his hands, shaking it and muttering to himself. Ashton reaches out and places a hand on Luke’s shoulder. A bang cuts through the room as the table shakes, causing them all to jump back slightly. It shakes again and one of the fortune cookies seems to jump from it’s platter in the middle of the table, landing in front of Calum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fortune cookie seems to tremble. Calum knocks over his chair in his haste to stand up. A crack breaks through the biscuit, something shiny and black worming it’s way out. Ashton also stands up, pulling Luke up with him, and Michael follows suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is that?” Ashton asks, pushing Luke behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum feels stuck in place as the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>keeps working its way out of the cookie. He shakes his head, either in denial of what’s happening or to tell Ashton that he has no idea. Maybe both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fortune pops open, startling them all, and there’s a black...insect sitting on the table, though it’s nothing any of them have ever seen before. It looks like a beetle, but it has wings like a butterfly and it’s oozing all over the orange tablecloth. Not to mention, it’s probably the size of Calum’s palm and it seems to be staring right at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What…” Michael starts, until another cookie leaps and lands in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not real," Calum whispers, though he doubts it’s heard over the sound of Luke’s whimpering and the table continuously banging against the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s cookie cracks much faster than Calum’s had, producing an isolated eyeball that looks around at them, before settling it’s gaze on Michael.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what the fuck, that fortune cookies looking at me!” He shouts, backing up even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The banging of the table keeps growing until every cookie has shattered, producing dozens of flying moths that circle the room and other gross, greasy insects that hop around the table. Michael swats them away as Calum can do nothing more than stand there in horror. The buzzing from the creatures drowns out every other sound in the room, drawing his focus to them, drawing him in and taking over his brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton notices the glazed look in Calum’s eye, and it makes his chest tighten in fear. He shouts, “Calum!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems to work, as Calum snaps out of it and takes note of the room, of Michael doing his best to duck and avoid the moths, and of Luke, who’s standing behind Ashton with his hands covering his face, urgently repeating to himself, or maybe the room, “I don’t wanna be here. I don’t wanna be here." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, despite being their leader, Ashton has no idea what he’s supposed to do. He hasn’t dealt with this in so long, hasn’t even thought about it, and he hates leaving it all up to Calum but Calum’s the one closest to It. He has to know what to do or they’re fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum seems to realize this responsibility as he tells them, “It’s not real!” He picks up the chair he was sitting in and brings it down on the table, effectively crushing the first beetle that had landed in front of Calum. Like a mantra, he repeats, “It’s not real. It’s not real," as he brings the chair down on the table again and again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others are shouting at him but he can’t hear them. Can’t hear or register anything, is only focused on protecting his friends, on destroying these-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is everything alright back here, gentlemen?” A female voice cuts through the chaos. A waitress stands at the entryway, regarding them with more concern than annoyance. Calum takes in that the buzzing from the moths has stopped, and that the only thing on the table is their food and a shattered plate. It’s all happened so fast that Calum’s left feeling dazed. Ashton’s not faring much better, it seems, and Luke looks close to tears, still holding his hands out in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Michael speaks up from where he’s taken refuge in the corner of the room, “Yeah...yeah. Could we get the check, please?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calum’s spirits sink as they make their way to the parking lot. The moon’s out, inviting a darkness that leaves the population of Derry vulnerable. He’s not sure where to go from here. Everyone seems to be avoiding each other, avoiding every part of Derry they can while still being in the town, and he can see his chance slipping through his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys," He stops in the middle of the lot, voice cracking. That at least gets them all to stop walking, and Ashton to turn and look at him, “Please. You have to stay."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sees Michael shake his head. Luke crosses his arms as though he’s cold, though the summer night heat is stifling. Calum feels close enough to tears that he doesn’t dare look at Ashton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you expect us to agree, Cal?” Luke asks quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You promised,” Calum says, hearing the desperation in his own voice, like a child betrayed by a parent, “We all promised. And I know that none of you are the type to break your promises."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael scoffs, bringing Calum’s tears further to the surface, “That was how many years ago? We were kids!” He’s shouting, and his voice echoes through the empty parking lot. There’s a rustle from a nearby bush that makes them all jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We knew what we were doing!” Calum shouts back, unable to keep it in. They all look thrown; Calum was always the quietest of them, never quick to anger, always the calmest in stressful situations. But he’s been alone for so long now, and he’s scared, terrified. He wants to tell them that Derry needs them, but he knows that they would all be able to see what’s behind those words.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we supposed to do it?” Luke asks, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. Michael shoots him a look, but he seems not to notice, “If we couldn’t do it as kids, how are we meant to finish it, for real, this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum chokes back a sob. There’s hope growing in his chest, because if he can explain to them what he’s been doing then maybe it’ll convince them to go through with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been doing research,” He rushes out, “It’s all back at the library, I can show you. I have a plan."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I have a plan too,” Michael interrupts, “Get the fuck out of here before it ends worse than one of Ash’s books. Who’s with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beep beep, asshole," Ashton speaks up, finally. Calum looks over at him, wanting their leader to give him more hope, to say he’ll go through it. Because if Ashton agrees, then so will the other two. That’s how it’s always been. But Ashton’s staring at the ground, his hands shoved in his pockets. The streetlamps surrounding them throw shadows over his face and he’s just as beautiful as Calum remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs Ashton to stay, more than any of them. So he asks, “Ash?” Daring the other man to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does, but it’s hesitant and unsure. Calum can see the decision-making war raging in Ashton’s head. Before he can speak, Calum knows what he’s going to say, and it makes tears of relief well up in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll go to the library tomorrow, to see what you have," He says. It’s final enough that Luke’s shoulders drop, glad at having the decision made for him. Michael looks indifferent, like it’s what he was expecting. “But we all need time to remember. So we’ll meet later in the day, after we’ve all had the chance to go wherever we need to go to bring most of it back. Good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all nod in agreement. Calum feels the lightest he has in years, free from having to make more decisions and plans. Now Ashton’s here to help him, if not fully take over like he’s anticipating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking around at his childhood best friends and seeing how little they’ve changed, he can’t help it when he says, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you guys."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael snorts, bringing Luke in with him to hug Calum and stating, “Loser."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum laughs, has to. He’s missed Michael’s obnoxious personality like he was missing a lung. He’s missed all of them like that, like parts of his soul had abandoned him. In a way, they had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missed you too, Cal," Luke mutters, sounding so much like he did as a young boy that it sends a shock through Calum. He holds on to them tighter. Luke speaks up, “Come on, Ash."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum looks over Luke’s shoulders to where Ashton is still standing away from them. He looks conflicted, pained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he puts on a brave face, like he always does, and joins their group hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve missed you, Losers," He mumbles, loud enough for just them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sitting in the cozy lounge of the hotel that Calum booked for all of them with Luke, Michael feels like every one of his dreams is coming to life. Not even in a cliche, romance novel way, because he’s finally found the owner of the golden hair that only comes to him in dreams and drunken visions and he’s finding it hard to breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking into the Jade restaurant and seeing the vision that is Luke Hemmings, Michael felt like he had been punched in the gut and it had scared him. He’s spent so long hiding his feelings, especially from Luke, that it’s basically instinct now. The second he allows himself to think about it, the bigger risk there is for something to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t touch the other boys, Michael.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do not fucking touch me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want any of you near my son again!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Michael, It got Luke.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s difficult now, with how comfortable Luke looks curled up in one of the armchairs to the left of the couch Michael’s sitting on, a glass of water in his hands, which are covered by a sweater that’s too large for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I think I always kind of remembered you," Luke says, startling Michael out of his own head. His traitorous heart speeds up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” He asks, nonchalantly, hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Luke laughs, tracing the rim of his glass with his finger. Michael wants to grab that dainty hand and never let go. “I remembered knowing someone who had colored hair. That was you, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael smiles at the mention of what he perceived as his teenage rebellion. A different hair color at weird intervals, wanting to be shocking, wanting the attention from everyone around him. Mostly Luke, though. “Yep,” He responds, “My manager told me it’s not really a good idea anymore. Says it’d make my hair fall out. Hence why I’ve had it blond for a while now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke nods, staring at Michael for a minute before he looks back down at his glass. Michael wants to scream, wants to demand that Luke’s attention be back on him for the rest of time. He can’t believe that these feelings haven’t died out, even a little bit, since they were 14. If anything, they seem even bigger, more consuming; Michael’s drowning in them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The firepit in front of the couch crackles, drawing Luke’s gaze towards it. Michael can’t help but stare at the way the light from the flames paints Luke’s face in an orange glow. He looks like every temptation Michael’s been resisting his whole life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember the day you dyed it red. Don’t know why," Luke says, practically whispers, still looking at the fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s a weird color to remember," Michael says. It’s not funny, but Luke smiles a bit anyways. It looks like he wants to say more, but is trying to decide if it’s a good idea. Michael’s okay with waiting, content to sit here and look at Luke for as long as he’s allowed. After all, it’s been 27 years and he needs to relearn every curve of Luke’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had asked me to meet you in the underground club. We spent hours on that hammock," Luke speaks up. Michael closes his eyes, trying to smother the memory that suddenly rushes back, but Luke’s merciless, “I was always worried it would break under our weight, but you told me I was too small for the hammock to even feel it. It wasn’t really true, but it made me feel better anyways. You always had that ability. But the day you dyed your hair was, like, a week before it all went to shit, I think. And it looked so cool on you, I was so shocked. I’m pretty sure I embarrassed myself and told you how I always wished I was as cool as you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you were pretty lame," Michael tries to joke, but it’s too quiet. The moment is too quiet for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke snorts, a little exhale through his nose and Michael doesn’t understand how everything he does can be captivating. “You were really nice to me that day, for some reason," He whispers, “Brought me some of your comic books to look at. We were down there until it got dark. My mom was so mad."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael remembers. Going against everything in him screaming not to, he remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 14 years old, Luke can’t think of a better way to spend his Saturday than with Michael. Michael, who’s a year older than him, and already so much cooler. Michael dyes his hair and tears holes in his jeans and listens to punk music that scares the adults.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke wears polos and shorts, and he carries a fanny pack full of his medicine wherever he goes. The only time he listens to music is when he’s with Micheal and Calum because his mom thinks it’ll give him hearing problems or corrupt his brain. Michael says that’s a load of shit, his hearing is just fine and his brain is in top-notch condition. Luke’s not sure he would agree with the last part of that statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riding his bike to their underground clubhouse, out in the fields of the barrens, Luke’s nervous. At the time, he thinks it’s just because Michael’s so cool and intimidating, and Luke doesn’t want Michael to think he’s lame. It’s so much more than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s already there by the time Luke parks his bike outside and carefully drops down into the dirty, unstable clubhouse. He’s laying back in the incredibly rickety hammock that’s strung up between two wooden beams, one hand behind his head while the other fiddles with his CD player. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took you long enough," He says when he hears Luke walk over to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke tries not to let his heart race at the image of how chilled out and </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>Michael looks, with his torn jeans and worn out band shirt. “Had to get away from my mom," He mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, come on," Michael says, scooting up a bit and motioning to the hammock. Luke climbs in so his feet are near Michael’s torso and Michael’s socked feet are near his collarbone. There’s a click and the sound of guitars softly fills the space. “Brought you something," Michael mutters, reaching over the side of the hammock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings out some old editions of comic books he had seen Luke eyeing last time they were at his house. Luke lights up, snatching them from Michael’s hands and looking up to thank him, which is when he suddenly notices. Michael’s hair is bright red, like a firetruck. Luke’s frozen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your um...your hair looks really cool," He stutters out, still staring, clutching the comic books and wrinkling them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael raises an eyebrow, smirking, which fires heat through Luke’s entire body. “Thanks. It’s my favorite so far,” He says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s...yeah," Is Luke’s brilliant response. Michael just laughs a bit and lies back, closing his eyes and listening to the music. Luke distracts himself by flipping through the comic books, wanting to read through them before it gets dark and he has to go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael senses his urgency, reassuring Luke, “Those are yours, ya know? Like, I’m giving them to you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke almost gives himself whiplash with how fast he looks up at the older boy. “What? But...Michael these are good editions, they must have cost so much money, I can’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” He cuts off. “Just take them. You’d get more out of them than I would. It’s not a big deal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke tries to ignore how his face heats up and how his palms start sweating, but it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Michael</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Michael, the one who constantly teases Luke and who Luke consistently tries to appear cooler than he is to. And he’s just giving Luke comic books, for no reason, not asking for anything in return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so cool," Luke blurts, and then promptly covers his face with the comic he’s holding. Definitely not cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks?” Michael laughs. “That seems to be high praise for some comics."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, like,” Luke takes a deep breath, unbelieving that he’s about to lay his heart out for Michael Clifford in their dingy underground clubhouse. “You’re way cooler than I am. Like, with how you dress and your hair, and how you just don’t give a shit about anything. But, like, you’re also really nice to all of us. I just wish I could be more like you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael sits, staring at Luke, throughout his ramble and for a few minutes after. During which Luke feels like any second the wooden beams are going to crack and everything’s going to crumble down on him specifically. Or maybe that’s just what he wishes would happen. Because why the fuck would he admit all that to Michael?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael, on the other hand, is too stunned to reply for a few minutes. His heart’s beating in his throat. He’s sure that if he tries to say anything, it’ll come out broken and he’ll surely spill something stupid like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think your legs are really cute and it drives me crazy that you only wear shorts to show them off. Do you wear them on purpose?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s definitely not something you admit to your friend. But Michael doesn’t think the word “friend” really applies to how he sees Luke. He’s not sure there’s a word for it. Soulmate, maybe, if he’s brave enough for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re really cool too, Lukey," Is what he gets out, without his voice cracking. He’s quite proud of himself for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s even more proud of the blush that rises to Luke’s cheek as the boy says, “Shut up, Mike," from behind the comic book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious!” Michael insists, “Like, you’re way smarter than me, which is cool. And you go behind your moms back on a lot of stuff, which is rad and super hilarious that she hasn’t found out. And adults love you so it’s easier for us to sneak into places and steal things. We couldn’t do that shit without you, and it wouldn’t be fun without you, either."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s face only grows more and more flushed as Michael talks. All he can do is offer a bashful smile that sends Michael’s heart soaring. Michael can never understand why he loves making Luke smile more than the other two, and why he always feels the need to compliment Luke even if it comes out joking. It has to come out joking or people could catch on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment’s too charged for Michael, which is why he leans forward and pinches Luke’s flushed cheeks, exclaiming, “Cute cute cute!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke bats his hand away. “Beep beep, Mikey," Though he’s still smiling so Michael knows he’s not too put out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay down there for hours after that, listening to Michael’s music and talking about the comics as Luke goes through them. Both boys forget entirely about the rest of the world. It’s only them, like it should be. There’s peace, nothing lurking in the shadows, no fear or anxiety about anything. Just them. That’s all they need.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when they finally say goodbye, they hug, with only moonlight illuminating the way. They feel each other's hearts pounding, but neither say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s late getting home. His mom is so mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Startled out of dreams of hammocks and laughter and peace by voices, Luke wakes up in the unfamiliar hotel room. He hears Ashton’s boisterous laughter from downstairs and immediately feels at ease. Sinking back into the warm pillows, he closes his eyes and takes in the sound of his best friends, knowing he’ll have to get up eventually but taking in the moment for what it is. There’s no need to rush anymore. He’s found what he’s been looking for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breakfast had been a quiet, serene ordeal. Ashton had asked him how he slept and Michael had shot him a shy smile, and they had eaten in comfortable silence. It was so much different than the chaotic, stressful mornings Luke is used to with Myra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he’s walking the streets of Derry, remembering his childhood in flashes that make it seem like he had never forgotten in the first place. Him and Michael had shared an ice cream cone on that bench, Bowers had tripped him on that street corner and Ashton had picked him up and put a band-aid where he scraped his knee, and there was the library that he and Calum had spent hours in. But there was one destination he had in mind, one he was sure would put him back in the mental state he needed to be in to get through this. Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking into the pharmacy after 27 years, Luke takes in how almost nothing has changed. The same plain, cracking walls, and shelves stocked with anything you could need to deal with any sort of ailment. The only thing different is the person behind the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than old, creepy Mr. Keene, it’s a woman with huge, teased hair and blue eyeshadow that’s definitely outdated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke Hemmings?” She asks when he walks up to the counter, blowing a pink bubble in his face, “Is that really you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s confused for a moment before he asks, “Greta?” without even really registering that he’s remembered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greta Keene, Mr. Keene’s mean daughter who constantly targeted Luke and called him a sissy boy and a fairy. The one who wrote </span>
  <em>
    <span>LOSER </span>
  </em>
  <span>on his cast in large, unforgiving letters. He supposes it was all very fitting. Seeing her now, he feels the same hesitance and anxiety he did as a teenager. She always seemed to know more than he did, especially about himself, and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared to deal with that today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the flesh,” She replies, gesturing to herself with the magazine she’s holding, “What can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” He starts. He’s unable to look at her too closely. It gives him a weird feeling up his spine, “I was just hoping for a refill on my inhaler. I have the prescription if you need it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes it from him, keeping eye contact the entire time while exaggeratedly chewing her gum, before heading off to the back. A chill runs through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something moves in the corner of his eye, and he snaps his head over to look at it. It’s a curtain rustling, which is quite unexplainable as there are no windows open nor are there any fans going. Luke has an absolutely dreadful feeling about it, but his feet move him without his permission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind the curtain is a staircase that creaks with every step he takes. The space is dimly lit, the bare lightbulbs too spaced out to really illuminate anything solidly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the same once he reaches the bottom, which leads to a barren, narrow hallway. The only things down there are opened boxes lining the walls, packed with syringes and pill bottles. Luke’s first instinct is to run back up the stairs, but he knows that if it were any of the others, they would see what’s at the end of the hallway. So, he walks on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves slowly, cautious of tripping or of anything waiting in front of him. There’s things scuttling in the walls, too big to be spiders even though that’s what he tells himself it is. There’s a whoosh of breath next to him that makes him jump, but nothing’s there when he turns to look. The lights above him are flickering and it’s starting to give him a headache, and it’s much too quiet for his comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, finally, after it feels like he’s been walking for 20 minutes, there’s another curtain in front of him, the bright lights above it illuminating the turquoise fabric that looks more fitting for a hospital. And he knows what he’ll find behind this curtain, remembers what was down here when he was a kid and too reckless for his own good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll be his mom, strapped to a dentist's chair, a tray of scalpels and syringes next to her. She’ll be screaming at him to help her, don’t leave her, but he can’t do anything. He’ll be stuck there with panic because something’s coming, It’s coming. She’ll beg and plead, but he’ll only helplessly pull the straps a few times and cry, “Mommy!” And he’ll leave, run back up the stairs while his mother's terrified screams chase after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rips back the curtain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s boxes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More boxes of medical supplies and sanitary products are stacked on each other. Luke lets out a breath, letting go of the curtain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice beside his ear gurgles, “Help me,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumps, back hitting the wall with a thud. There, in front of him, is the leper, the same one that chased and tormented him when he was young. It’s grotesque, green head is bandaged, it’s left eye socket gaping, and there’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>oozing out of it’s flat nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It brings it’s cracked hands up to press into the sides of his face. Panic seizes him for a brief moment, and in that moment Michael’s smiling, blushing face from the night before flashes through his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings his own pale, soft hands up, pressing his thumbs into its eyes. He digs into the empty socket, and a green slime shoots out and hits his shoulder. Letting out an involuntary shriek, his hands fall down to its shoulders before he wraps them around its neck. It’s still palming at his face, but he presses his hands down harder, feeling weak bones and muscle shift under his palms. There’s a horrible choking sound coming from it, and Luke only has a moment to brace himself and squeeze his eyes shut before it’s chucking black vomit up, spraying all over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his breath for what seems like an hour, and in that moment he truly feels like a child again. Images whirl through his mind, of him knocked down again and again by Bowers and It and his mother and </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Drowning in this monster’s upchuck, he feels moments from collapsing. Chest tight and fear bringing tears to his eyes, he prays for that inevitable fall he knew was coming every time he walked down a hallway. His knees are scraped to hell from when Bowers tripped him over and over, and his mother is screaming that he is too frail to keep getting hurt like this. But someone else is kneeling there with him. It’s Ashton, bandaging his knee. It’s Michael, cracking a joke to make him smile. It’s Calum, whispering to him that he’ll be alright because he’s stronger than he looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke is not frail. Luke can kill this </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>leper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He endures the spray, not ceasing the pressure on its neck until it’s done and falls limp from his grip. Taking one last glance down to ensure it’s death, he bolts back down the hallway, which seems much shorter than it did before, and back up the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greta is just walking back to her place at the counter when he bursts through the curtain, which seems impossible for how long he thought he was down there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives him a concerned look when she sees how heavily he’s breathing, pushing the box towards him and saying, “Here you go. Your insurance covers it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s dazed, feeling like he just walked into a dream. Though he feels disgusting, dripping with the oily purge of the leper, he knows he looks perfectly normal to Greta, same as he did when he walked in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke only spares her a brief, “Yeah, thanks, good to see you," as he grabs the box and makes his way outside. He takes in a deep breath of the thick, hot summer air and decides he’ll allow himself to cry when he’s in the shower later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s not sure where he’s going, he doesn’t think he has that one location that’ll bring him back to where he needs to be. Maybe he could go back to his childhood home, but there are no substantial memories there. Only cold silence and guilt. He carries that with him every day anyways, has never let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all that’s the same, there is so much of Derry that’s different. The old ice cream parlor is a boutique. The movie theater has been renovated and looks almost completely different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s walking aimlessly, glancing in store windows when he sees it, a heaping hunk of metal that was on the verge of breaking from the day he got it. The wheels are no doubt deflated, and the handlebar is rusted, but he would know that bike anywhere. He looks closer, and there, etched onto the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>SILVER.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He bursts through the doors of the shop. It’s dusty and crowded, shelves lined with random antiques like old movie posters or books that probably should have been donated to the library. There’s a taxidermy skunk sitting on top of a shelf, little claws outstretched towards Ashton. Nobody else is in the store besides the older man behind the counter. Ashton’s not shocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The man behind the counter doesn’t even seem startled at his disruptive entrance, looking up slowly from the magazine he was reading, gaze resting on Ashton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re that big shot author," He says, which kind of throws Ashton, but he recovers quickly. He’s used to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess so," He says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy nods, “Read some of your books. Endings are shit."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton hesitates, eyes flickering around the store while he thinks of a response because, ouch. It’s fine reading that stuff online but hearing it in person stings a little. Finally, he just says, “Thanks." </span>
</p><p><span>“So,” The man says, looking back at his magazine, “What can I do for you?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Ashton points back at Silver and says, “How much for the b-b-b-”</span></p><p>
  <span>What the fuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looks up again, “Books? Banjo? Beaver?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton continues stuttering until he can finally spit out, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bike!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“$200”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton buys it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Is that bike any good, you think?” The man asks, eyebrow raised skeptically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-Mister,” Ashton says. “She was fast enough to beat the devil."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashton has almost fallen off this goddamn bike about four times now. The tires are not as deflated as he thought, but the gear is fucked and multiple parts have fallen off it in the short distance he’s managed to ride it before having to stop and adjust something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, though, he gets going. He raises himself off the seat slightly, cautious of the fact that he’s not as young as he once was, but mostly ignores it a bit in the moment because he’s flying, absolutely soaring down this empty street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help the laugh that escapes because he hasn’t felt this light in a long time. Wind is blowing through his hair and rushing past his ears and his blood is thrumming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>HI-YO SILVER! AWAY!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He cries, and laughs again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s the ghost of thin arms wrapped around his waist. They’re Luke’s, all those times Ashton took him for a ride around town when Luke wanted to get away, and they would scream and laugh the whole time, Luke yelling for Ashton to slow down though he never meant it. And there’s two more bikes next to him; Michael with his shock of bright hair, yelling something crude to make them laugh harder, and Calum, too small for his bike, looking like he would blow over with a strong breeze, laughing shyly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spent so many days like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton doesn’t realize that muscle memory has brought him to his house until he’s stopped in front of it. Everything is quiet now, unwelcoming, and the sky seems more gray than it did before. He takes one look at the house, sees how it’s been refurbished and the door has been painted a different, brighter color, and walks his way down the road a bit until he’s stood in front of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entrance to the sewer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same one that sucked down Georgie’s paper boat that Ashton had made for him earlier that day. The sewer that It had been hiding in, luring in Ashton’s baby brother under the guise of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pennywise the Dancing Clown! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of all fucking things. It had lured Georige in and talked to him, gained his trust, and then dragged him right down there with his boat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that had been it. No search party, no body found, nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just this fucking sewer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers standing here once as a boy, days after Georgie’s funeral, begging for answers that he didn’t get. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why him? Why Georgie? You could have taken anybody! Why him? Why him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton swallows through his tight throat, chest heaving at the memory of his younger self. He knows the answer to that now; because Georgie was there. Because he was there and vulnerable, and because Ashton wasn’t there to protect him. Because there’s no reason for anything It does. It takes whoever It can feed on and then make everyone forget about. A bitter feeling rises in him, but he flushes it out with anger, like he’s been doing for so many years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kn-know," Ashton starts, “I know you’re down there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly walks closer as he speaks, “I know you’re down there, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucker</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He collapses to his knees in front of the sewer, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You took my brother! You took my brother, you fuck! I want him back! You took my brother and I want him back! No more of this! You took him from me, isn’t that enough? You took my brother!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He shouts as he bangs his fists against the gravel, no doubt bruising them and drawing blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A young voice speaks from beside him, “Um, excuse me? Who are you talking to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton looks over, registering that his face is damp. There’s a boy there, no more than 11, with sandy curls and wide eyes, holding a skateboard. Ashton’s throat burns, and his voice is hoarse when he answers, “D-D-Do you ever h-hear anything come from here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” The kid nods, looking excited, “Sometimes I hear the voices come from the drains too, like in my sink!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton feels sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” He says, pushing himself to his feet, “Promise me you’ll stay away from these sewers. Leave the voices alone, don’t answer them, ever. Always try to have a friend with you, especially at n-night, and stay away from anything stupid or dangerous. Okay? P-Promise me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid looks wary, but he nods, “Okay. I promise."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton takes a breath and wipes at his face. He gives the kid a weak smile and goes back to where he had dropped Silver, but he doesn’t get back on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He figures if he walks, he should be at the library by the time they had agreed on. He’ll just go slow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, Ashton is the last to arrive at the library, which is closed by the time he gets there. The sun is setting, and a slight night breeze ruffles his hair as he locks Silver up by the entrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building is quiet when he enters. Calum is busy at the front desk, putting some last minute information into a computer. Luke is sitting on top of the desk, swinging his legs back and forth while flipping through a book. Michael is wandering through some shelves near the front, clearly bored because it’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>library</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ashton hops onto the desk next to Luke, who gives him a small smile and sets the book down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was your day, Ash?” He asks quietly, resting his hand on top of Ashton’s. Ashton flips his own hand over to thread his fingers through Luke’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was fine,” Ashton answers, just as quietly, “How was yours, Lukey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s smile wobbles only briefly. He looks so young, they’re not even that far apart in age yet he looks so young to Ashton. But Ashton has to remember that Luke is a grown man now who doesn’t need to be coddled, so he waits patiently for Luke’s answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never comes, though, because Calum’s clearing his throat and Michael’s sauntering back over to them and it’s starting. Calum comes around the desk to stand with them, clasping his hands behind his back so the others can’t see them shake. His heart is thundering in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spent the afternoon gathering all his research- if it can really be called that- and piecing it together in a coherent way that he could properly explain. A way that will convince them all to go along with it. Somewhere, deep in his heart, he knows they will. They wouldn’t have come all this way if they weren’t going to, but he’s spent so long being afraid that it’s habit. Now’s the only time he’ll be able to break it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” He starts, immediately gasping in a breath after, like it took so much out of him to utter that single word, “So I’ve been doing a lot of research, these past few months especially."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes the mistake of looking up at them, finding that they’re all looking back at him like he holds all the answers. Technically, he supposes, he does. That doesn’t make it easier. Calum hates being the one they rely on, he can’t bear thinking about what that means if something goes wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, so, It’s been here basically forever, from what I can tell. There’s strange occurrences dating all the way back to when Derry was founded. The first tribe to settle here basically all went missing overnight." He sees Luke reach for his inhaler, holding it like a stress toy.He pushes on. “Luckily, the tribe had a ritual, of sorts, to get rid of It. Someone wrote it down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t it work?” Michael asks, perched on the desk beside Ashton. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question throws Calum off a bit. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they had a ritual to get rid of It, why is It still here?” Luke asks. He’s fiddling with the cap of the inhaler, looking desperately like he wants to use it but unsure if it’s allowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” He starts. They’re looking at him expectantly and he absolutely hates that he doesn’t have a good answer for them, “I don’t know, it didn’t say. And I figured it would be disrespectful to seek out the tribe and ask them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all nod, either like they were expecting this or that they agree with his last statement. Maybe both. Hopefully both. Both would make him feel better because it would mean he hasn’t really disappointed them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton looks up and, ever the sensible one, asks, “So what’s the ritual?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called the Ritual of Chud," Calum says, reaching for the notes he prepared. “In the simplest terms, we each burn an important token and chant ‘Turn dark to light’ to lure It to us, then beat it in a game of will."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat where they all look confused. Michael’s the first to ask, “What the fuck does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum hesitates. “I’m not really sure."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck, dude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious, Cal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>are we supposed to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Guys</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Ash cuts them all off. “Cal, is that really all you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Calum starts. “No? I mean, I know where it first landed on Earth. It’s beneath the house on Neibolt, in the sewers, that’s why It led so many of its victims there. That’s where it’s strongest. So, I figured, if we really wanted to defeat it for good, that’s where we’d go, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re all looking at him like he’s slightly crazy. He feels slightly crazy. Luke’s eyes are glassy and Michael’s gripping the edges of the desk. Ashton just looks concerned, which builds pressure in Calum’s chest because he was really hoping that Ashton would give him some reassurance that they would figure it out, it would be okay. He doubts he’ll get anything like that now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cal,” Luke says, his voice breaking. He looks desperate, pleading. “You can’t expect us to go through with this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum can’t say anything. His hope is wearing thin, like the string that once bound them all together is moments away from completely snapping. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when that happens. They’re all he’s ever had, and remembering them all, while knowing that they would never know him again without this tragedy, has torn at his heart every day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he might cry, right here in the middle of his own library.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They must be able to see it because Michael tries to console him. “Cal, I’m sorry. I know we promised but...that was years ago. This isn’t a game anymore. Something serious could happen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something could’ve happened when we were kids!” He explodes. His despair crashes through his voice and he absently feels a few tears run down his face. “Something did happen! It took Luke! And we only got him back because we weren’t afraid back then, we had to do it! So, what’s changed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question is slightly rhetorical but Ashton answers anyways, “It’s not just us we have to think about anymore!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum looks at him. Despite the tension, he can’t stop thinking about how beautiful Ashton looks. The single overhead light is dim and throws beautiful shadows over Ashton’s face. His eyes are piercing and Calum wants to stare at them all day. His cheeks are slightly pink and Calum wants to kiss them. His hair is messy and Calum wants to run his hands through it. He’s beautiful and Calum desperately wants him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>him like the air he breathes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dreads the answer to his own unasked question. He asks anyways, carefully keeping his voice level, almost monotone, challenging Ashton to break his heart, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton accepts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a w-wife now, Calum!” He bursts. His voice, along with Calum’s heart, cracks. “I have someone waiting for me, and she doesn’t exactly know where I am. I have to get b-b-back to her." Michael and Luke snap their heads to look at Ashton. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton, who had not stuttered around them up until this point, hasn’t stuttered since he was in college and finally taking speech classes to get rid of it. To get rid of the last shred of his childhood, the thing that got him bullied and ridiculed, because he could never stand up for himself without tripping over his words, sometimes taking minutes to get out one simple sentence, only briefly shedding the stutter when he was facing It. To get rid of the stutter that always let on more than he ever wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t really mean what he’s said. Calum can tell that he doesn’t really mean it, because he stuttered, because he sounds overly-desperate. Ashton’s emotions are not tidal waves like Calum’s and Luke’s; they’re only lakes, slightly spilling over when it rains, but usually just calm and full enough to be felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can do it," Calum whispers. “I know we can."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Ashton pleads. Michael and Luke are looking between them like they know</span>
</p><p>
  <span>what’s going on. They stay quiet, their choice isn’t really theirs anyways. It’s Ashton’s. Whatever he decides, they’ll do, and it’s clear that Ashton hasn’t made his decision yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just do," Calum says. To anyone else, that answer would not suffice, but they’ve all been where he is. When you live in Derry, sometimes there are just things that you know, something stronger than instinct that settles in you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite knowing this, Ashton still looks unsure. “C-Cal-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one overhead light that Calum left on flickers before going out completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys?” Luke whimpers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every light in the building flickers on, burning brighter than Calum thinks they normally do. It seems like he can hear them sizzling, but it’s drowned out by tentative footsteps coming from the staircase that leads to the children’s section that Calum spent almost every summer in. Fear seizes him, the temperature drastically drops, he’s about to choke on...something. Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s there?” Ashton asks, stepping in front of Michael and Luke, reaching out for Calum. As if Calum could move right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” A young voice calls out. They all share a look; the voice sounds eerily familiar. It sends a shiver up Calum’s spine, tickling at the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small shadow is thrown across the floor and they tense, preparing for what they’ll be facing. Calum goes through a mental checklist of the library, trying to think of what they could use as a weapon other than the books. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tan, thin legs come into view, then a torso, and then it’s...him. It’s Calum. Probably around 14, wearing the raggedy jeans and too-big shirt he was wearing the day he met them all. He’s clutching his arm, clearly scared, and there’s tear tracks streaking his face but no tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cal?” Michael whispers, stepping past Ashton as if he doesn’t have control over his own body. Ashton reaches out for him but is brushed off. He’s alert, waiting for something to go wrong. Luke looks somewhere between petrified and awe-struck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey?” Young Calum says back, stepping forward before stumbling. “Why’d you leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael steps back, confused and wrecked. “What? What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You left,” He says, taking them all in. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You all left me!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton and Luke look absolutely gutted. Calum stares on in mild horror as tears drip down his childhood face, streaking his cheeks an unnatural scarlet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael steps forward and Young Calum takes a step back, clearly not done exposing Adult Calum’s feelings. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why’d you leave? You left me here to deal with It by myself! Am I not enough? Why’d you leave? I can change just please don’t leave me again!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His voice grows more and more shrill as he goes on and Calum feels sicker and sicker with every word. There’s a small thud next to him and he looks over to see that Luke’s dropped his inhaler, his hands shaking too much to hold it. With a start, Calum realizes that Luke’s crying and Ashton’s jaw is set, the way it is when he’s trying to be brave, to be strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cal," Michael says, going to step forward again but being knocked back by nothing. He holds his hands out and pushes at the air, not being able to move through it. “What the hell?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mikey, please! I’m scared!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Young Calum shrieks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all look over in time to see Young Calum’s shirt tear, three scratches blooming at his scrawny chest, blood oozing from them. Twin gasps of horror fall from Luke and Ashton before they run up to where Michael stands, all banging at the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cal!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Michael screams as more cuts tear through Young Calum’s shirt, pants, even his neck and arms. Young Calum is scratching at his face in panic as they all yell at him to stop, to hold on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mikey! You promised! You all promised!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His voice cuts through the air. He drops his arms to his side and looks directly at Ashton. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ashy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’s gone. Gone in a blink, like he’d never been there at all. The air is vibrating with the sudden silence. Michael trips as he rushes to where Young Calum had just been, dropping to his knees. He looks around in confusion. The lights go out again, only the one that Calum had left on remaining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Calum feels like he can move again, he slowly treks to where Luke and Ashton are still standing. Luke’s crying a bit harder now, clearly trying not to break down and sob. Ashton’s pale, slightly green, and his heart is shattering in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael turns to face them, still on his knees, tears running down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A decision settles over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll do it,” Ashton says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day, they meet at the library and make their way to the old Neibolt house together. With the sun shining high above them and the sound of Derry living on like normal, dread builds its way into all of their hearts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re walking down old streets, passing by worn down houses and churches, a meat factory, some newer buildings that the majority of them have no recollection of. There are a few kids littering the streets, skipping school to avoid something. Ashton and Calum are leading, brushing shoulders as they talk quietly. Michael stays behind, next to Luke, hands firmly in his pocket so they don’t brush against the other man’s. Luke’s wearing a simple blue sweater, his hair is glowing from the sunlight, and Michael wants nothing more than to hold him and never let go. After all, he may never get the chance after today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, where did you go yesterday?” Luke asks, looking at Michael with such sincere curiosity that it makes him slightly sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays looking at the pavement in front of him as he answers, “The arcade."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke snorts out a laugh. Michael’s heart swells. Luke asks, “It’s still open?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Michael starts, sheepishly. Luke shoots him an amused look, definitely already knowing where this is headed. “Not exactly. It’s abandoned so I...kind of had to break in."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke laughs again, loud and high-pitched. Michael wants to record it and put it in every song he’ll ever write from now on. He thinks he could probably write entire, non-comedic songs about Luke’s laugh. He thinks he probably already has, without even knowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The streets are getting quieter now, barely any life except for the four of them. There are less houses, and the ones that do remain have shattered windows and weeds growing through the cracks in the front porches. A mild breeze washes over them, carrying the sounds of Ashton’s voice back to Michael and Luke, not discernible enough for them to figure out what he and Calum are talking about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever it is seems to be pretty serious, considering how intently Calum is looking at Ashton. Although, Michael seems to remember that Calum had always looked at Ashton that way. But Ashton looks quite distressed, and he’s gesturing with his hands a lot, so Michael decides it still must be pretty serious. He hopes they work out whatever it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes a lot of sense, actually," Luke says, cutting crisply through the sounds of the overgrown grass rustling. Michael hums out a questioning noise. “You going to the arcade. You spent a lot of time there. It was basically your second home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah," Michael responds, ever the eloquent one. He doesn’t tell Luke that the two worst days of Michael’s life happened at the arcade, and that’s actually what he went back there for. If he told him, he would have to tell him that both of those days somewhat involved Luke, and then there would be a lot of awkward confessing. Michael doesn’t have the balls for that at the moment. He’s saving his bravery for what they’re about to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to ask where Luke went, but Ashton suddenly stops in front of him and he almost sends them both toppling over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s righted himself, he realizes that they’re stopped in front of the house. It’s exactly like he remembers it being, surprisingly not anymore worn down than it was 27 years ago. The wood is dark and rotting, the stairs to the front door are falling apart, the front window is smashed out and the rest are boarded up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael thinks he might pass out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears a whispered, “Fuck” next to him and, throwing caution to the wind, reaches out his hand to Luke, who immediately grips back. Forget passing out, Michael is going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>explode</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I can do this," Luke says loud enough for the others to hear, voice shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey-” Michael says, squeezing his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s ready to reassure Luke, though not exactly knowing what he’ll say, but Ashton steps in before he gets the chance, turning around to face them, putting on his Older Brother Face. “N-none of us are, but we have to. No matter wh-what happens, we’ll h-h-have each other. That’s all we’ve ever n-needed and it’s all we need now, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke nods. None of them move. They’re all staring up at the old house, and Michael would bet good money that they’re all thinking the same thing. They’re all remembering the rousing speech Ashton had made on the front steps when they were kids, the one that held so much anger and determination, enough of it to move them all into stepping through the front door. Remembering how Ashton’s home had grown cold and bitter since Georgie died, how Ashton wanted nothing more than to have his baby brother back, how he was willing to do anything for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Walking into this house is easier than walking into my own.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no rousing speech now. Just despair and trepidation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael can’t help but think that they really were so much braver when they were kids. Or maybe just dumber, more stubborn. Maybe he’ll write a song about it, if they make it out of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-Well,” Ashton finally says. “You said it b-best last time, M-Mike."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael draws a slight blank. He said a lot of stupid shit in the midst of panic back then. “You’re lucky we’re not measuring dicks?” He ventures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all drop their heads in exasperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s kill this fucking clown?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton smiles at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s kill this fucking clown," He repeats.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Walking into the House on Neibolt, Michael’s hit with the memory of the time they came here to fight It for what they thought would be the last time. He’s at the arcade, truly his safe space, smashing angrily away at a fighting game because Ashton had fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>punched </span>
  </em>
  <span>him weeks prior. All Michael had done was make a point about how they were all going to get killed if they kept going after It. Maybe he had also said something rude about Georgie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he had been an asshole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t mean he was going to apologize.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He vaguely hears someone crash through the front doors and stop beside him, can see Ashton’s unruly hair out of the corner of his eye. Longing and guilt outweigh the rage that  builds inside him, but he’ll damned if he was going to let Ashton see that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” He bites out. Then, without giving Ashton the chance to answer, he continues. “See that guy I’m beating up? I’m pretending it’s you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t see Ashton roll his eyes, but there’s no doubt that’s what happened when he answers, “M-Mike."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael ignores him. Who does Ashton think he is, marching into Michael’s safe place and not apologizing right away? If Ashton wants forgiveness, he would have to get on both knees and beg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t, but that’s what Michael likes to think. He likes to think he’s not that easy that he would just give in to Ashton so easily. No matter that he’s always had some strange hero-worship bordering on infatuation for the other boy. That was almost long gone, only barely lingering on the worst days. Michael’s moved on, replaced those feelings with someone else, though he would never admit it out loud. A sense of doom fills Michael every time he even spares a thought to possibly telling someone, like something-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael," Ashton says again, more urgent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s character dies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He faces Ashton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It got L-Luke."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael regains his senses probably around the time they pull up to the Neibolt House, almost positive he blacked out on the bike ride to Calum’s house. There’s no hesitation in any of their steps as they practically run through the front door and over to the well that leads down into the sewers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s the first down, hastily tying the rope around his waist and lowering himself down, impatiently waiting for Ashton and Calum to join him. When everyone else is down, Michael takes off, barely waiting to turn on his flashlight before he’s calling out Luke’s name through his tight throat. He barely feels the murky water of the tunnels weighing down his jeans, dragging his feet through it like it’s not even there. There’s no time to be scared of the things he steps on or the whispers he hears around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With every turn they take that leads to nowhere, anxiety works its way into Michael’s chest. Tears build behind his eyes and it takes all his strength to keep them at bay. Luke is still down there, alive, Michael will not allow himself to think differently unless there’s physical proof right in front of him. Even then, he might still deny it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems like hours pass before they turn their way into an opening and there, right there, </span>
  <em>
    <span>floating</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is Luke. Michael runs to him. He’s hovering a few feet up, too far for Michael to reach, hair splayed out around him, arms limp by his side, one wrapped in his bulky cast, face tilted up as his eyes stared blankly at nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cal,” Michael chokes out. “Come here, get on my shoulders."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does, reaches his scrawny arms up to grab one of Luke’s cold hands. As he pulls him lower, Ashton grabs hold of Luke’s ankle and brings him the rest of the way down until he’s standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum drops off Michael’s shoulders. Michael steps up to Luke; up close, Michael can clearly see that there’s something wrong with his eyes. His pupils and irises are entirely taken up by a pale blue, nearly white, film. Michael could cry. If  he could just see </span>
  <em>
    <span>Luke’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>eyes, the blue of the sky as it’s nearing nighttime, he might be comforted. Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Luke’s  just standing there, unblinking, unmoving, barely breathing. Michael puts his hands on the other boy's shoulders and shakes, nearly sobbing out, “Luke,"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes him again. Nothing. He turns wildly between Ashton and Calum as he asks, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why isn’t he answering? What’s wrong with him?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns back to Luke, shakes again, breathes in, and makes a decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Michael’s not exactly a child anymore, doesn’t exactly believe in tales like Sleeping Beauty, but he’s panicking and nobody else has offered up any other ideas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans in and presses his lips against Luke’s, which are cold and unresponsive. Michael only lets himself linger for a second after he hears Ashton and Calum gasp next to him. They all wait with bated breath to see if it’s worked. Michael’s just beginning to lose hope when there’s a harsh breath in and Luke’s eyes clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seems dazed and confused for a moment until his gaze lands on Michael, whose hands are still resting on his shoulders. “Mikey?” He whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash!” Calum calls out to Ashton, who has started to walk away from the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael gently takes hold of Luke’s elbow as they follow Ashton around a pile of what Michael now sees are bodies, stacked so high he can’t see the top. All children, ranging from Georgie’s age to a bit older than them. Some of them are floating around the pile on their backs, as if they’re lying down. There are objects filled into the pile-up; baseball bats, dolls, marbles, books.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Luke could have ended up there </span>
  </em>
  <span>Michael thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke whimpers from beside him, burying his face in Michael’s shoulders, also having realized what else is in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay," Michael whispers, pulling Luke closer to him and running a hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finally reach the other side of the corpse hill, and abruptly stop when they see Ashton, who’s standing in front of...Georgie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks just like the three boys remember, young and innocent. Except now he looks hurt and scared. The yellow raincoat he wears is dirty, bloody, and one of the arms hangs limp with nothing there to fill it. He’s sniffling as his short legs carry him closer to his older brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of them say anything, though Calum looks like he wants to. He’s staring at Ashton, terrified and worried for the older boy. Michael thinks he knows what’s going on between them, knows why Calum’s stance screams that he’s ready to jump in the moment something goes haywire.  Michael knows all too well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ashy,” Georgie whimpers. His voice tugs at Michael’s heart; he can’t imagine what it’s doing to Ashton’s. “Why didn’t you come for me? It’s so cold down here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s face twists with every word, clearly desperate to hold back tears. His voice is thick when he answers, “I l-looked everywh-where for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sounds so young, younger than he is, nothing like the strong, steadfast Ashton Irwin that any of the boys are used to. None of them have ever seen this side of Ashton. He didn’t want them at the funeral, and he certainly never cried about Georgie in front of them. It was only quiet anger and guilt that devolved into steering the conversation somewhere else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared," Georgie cries. Calum takes a measly step closer. “I wanna go home. With you, and mom and dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton takes in a shuddering, wet breath. Tears are shining at the brim of his eyes but he doesn’t let them go. “I want nothing more than to bring you home."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath in, steeling himself. Michael and Luke do the same, unsure of where this is headed. They know there’s no logical way that Georgie is alive right now, looking this well, but there’s no way they could get that through to Ashton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton raises his right arm, which now has the pistol they stole from Calum’s granddad at the end of it, aimed right at Georgie’s forehead. Michael’s about to bolt forward and ask Ashton what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but Calum holds him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s bordering on wailing when he says, “But you’re not Georgie," His finger flexes on the trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Georgie freezes. Falls flat on his back. Ashton steps away, lowering the gun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Georige’s body begins to violently shake, practically convulsing, and they all take a cautious step backwards. Luke holds tighter to Michael. And then it just stops. He’s lying still again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His right arm elongates with a pop, followed by his left, and then his legs, and it’s no longer Georgie but Pennywise, dragging itself up and smiling at them, clown suit so dirty it’s barely white. It’s teeth are jagged and there’s so many of them; Michael has a clear image of it’s mouth opening and devouring all four of them without hesitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash, look out!” Calum screams, though not in time as It lunges forward and knocks Ashton on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s not sure when Calum had the time to grab a pipe, or where he even found it, but that’s not really on his mind as Calum makes his way to the clown. Michael’s heart in his throat as Calum exclaims, “Leave him alone!” and strikes out at the creature, only for It to catch the pipe and toss it, along with Calum, aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cal!” Michael shouts, thinks he shouts, detaching himself from Luke and making his way over, picking up what he thinks is a toy sword. He’s not really thinking, panic and the need to protect clouding his mind. Distantly, someone calls his name as It reaches out and strikes at his shoulder, knocking him to the side. Pain shoots up his side as he’s knocked down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears Luke scream and shoots up, taking in the scene in front of him. Ashton has taken place on It’s back, with Calum and Luke grabbing at its arms in an attempt to disorient or overwhelm It. But they’re young, too young to understand that a couple of kids could never be enough to just throw It off it’s rhythm. Luke and Calum are easily tossed aside. Michael’s glad he’s still too out of it to run over to one of them because he’s not sure which one he would’ve chosen, and that thought doesn’t sit well with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a thud from in front of him where It has flipped Ashton over its back and now has him in a chokehold. They all stare on in terror as It laughs, that broken, soft squealing laughter that grates Michael’s nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let him go," Calum demands, though it’s raspy and pained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No," It says, taunting. “I’ll take him. I’ll take all of you, and feast on your flesh as I feed on your fears."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke whimpers from somewhere to Michael’s left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or," It continues, one quivering finger lifted and grinning like it just had the world's greatest idea. “Leave us be. I’ll take him and have my rest. You’ll all grow old and live </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy </span>
  </em>
  <span>lives and perish with old age."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s thoughtful silence, even though none of them are actually considering leaving Ashton down here.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We go down together </span>
  </em>
  <span>Michael thinks. It doesn’t really comfort him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G-Go," Ashton croaks. “Leave."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Pennywise is laughing and mocking his stutter. Ashton squeezes his eyes shut and Michael is </span>
  <em>
    <span>furious</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Furious at Ashton’s stupid fucking selflessness and love that got them into this in the first place. Furious at himself for ever leaving Ashton’s side, not spending as much time with Ashton as he possibly could, telling the older boy how much he admired him. Furious at the town of Derry for not giving a fuck what happens to their children. Most of all, furious at this </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid clown</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael stands. “I told you, Ash," He starts, stumbling back a bit. “I fucking told you. I don’t wanna die."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel Luke and Calum’s eyes on him, probably thinking the worst of him. Michael doesn’t blame them, but he’s not done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paces, counting on his fingers, “You punched me in the face, brought me to a fucking crackhead house,” Pennywise makes a hurt noise. “And now,” Michael pauses, grabbing a baseball bat from the pile of bodies next to him. “I’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It tosses Ashton aside, Calum immediately rushing over to him. But Michael’s sights are set right in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Welcome to the Loser’s Club, asshole!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Michael yells, swings right as It leaps at him, striking its head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swings again, hitting its shoulder. Then Calum is next to him, pipe back in his hand as he strikes. Ashton’s there too with a long chain, using both hands to whip at It. It’s head is blurring, taking various nightmarish forms that they knock away. Calum clocks its head so hard its whole body turns, landing on its knees in front of Luke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a horrible choking sound coming from its throat. They barely have a moment to think before it all comes up It’s throat, something black and oily, coating Luke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s expecting Luke to cry, maybe run away. What he’s not expecting is for a look of fury to take over his face as he screams, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m gonna fucking kill you!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” and kicks it upside it’s too-big head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four boys advance, swinging and battering it, pushing it back until it’s cornered, resting up against a hole in the ground. Ashton lashes out with his chain again, knocking it backwards into the hole, only its gloved hands, gripping the edge, sparse, </span>
  <em>
    <span>revolting </span>
  </em>
  <span>orange hair, and eyes visible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s whispering, Michael strains to hear it. “He th-thrusts his f-f-fists against the p-post and still insists h-he sees the g-g-g-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the phrase Ashton was given in his first speech class, back when they were in third grade, to help with his stutter. As far as Michael knew, he had never been able to master it, no matter how much his mother practiced with him. Michael’s sure there hasn’t been much joint practicing as of late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton doesn’t look phased, though. He steps closer, looking down at It, face stoic. “We’re not afraid of you," He says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s facial expression doesn’t change. Michael thinks he sees it shrink down on itself, but he can’t really tell because It’s gone the next minute. Just, gone. They all deflate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only then does Ashton look away, making his way over to Corpse Hill, collapsing to his knees in front of it. Michael follows him, Luke and Calum taking up the rear. When he gets closer, Michael can see Ashton clutching something yellow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A raincoat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael sinks to his knees next to Ashton. Written on the inside collar of the coat is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Georgie </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Ashton’s neat scrawl. He hears a sniffle, looks up and sees tears making their way down Ashton’s face. His heart aches for his best friend and he pulls him into a tight hug. Luke and Calum join them on the ground as their arms make their way around Ashton as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, Ashton cries freely and lets them comfort him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nobody has such high hopes for the ending of this endeavor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside of the house hasn’t changed. Dark and dingy, insects scuttling around the floor, the smell of mold strongly permeating the air. Breathing is difficult, but it’s hard to tell if that’s because of the atmosphere or nerves. There is the possibility that it might be both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk silently to the well, sat menacingly in the middle of the room. No words are spoken as they tie the rope around a pipe and lower it into the opening. Calum makes his way down silently, followed by Luke, Ashton, then Michael.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s as wet and gross as they all remember. The cold water reaches their ankles and their flashlights barely do anything to light the way. Ashton lets out a deep exhale, clearly displeased with their current predicament. But they advance nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton can’t really remember how they knew where they were supposed to go as kids, and he sure as hell doesn’t know now. He doesn’t know if they’re going the right way and, if they are, how they’re getting there. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised anymore, should know better than to wonder. It’s Derry, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they walk and, eventually, they end up in an open room that has toys and children’s shoes scattered across the floor. There’s no more bodies, which is both comforting and not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton takes a breath in and turns to the others, who have formed a small circle. “Alright,” He says. “Tell us what to do, Cal."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum nods and unzips the backpack he had been carrying, taking out a large bowl and setting it in the middle of their circle. “Let’s just put in our items first,” He says, barely above a whisper. Ashton longs to hold him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>After</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he tells himself, not believing it for a second. “Whoever wants to go first, just um,” He gestures to the bowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a minute of silence. They all know that they’ll have to do it eventually, but actually starting it makes everything real. Ashton knows that they all want just a little more time to prepare, but he also knows that they’ll never really be prepared. He’s about to speak up when Michael steps forward. “I’ll go,” He says, pulling a small, circular object out of his jeans pocket. “This is a token from the arcade. So, yeah.” He throws it into the bowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke lets out a small snort from where he’s standing next to Michael. Michael throws him a small look that Luke doesn’t notice, one of fondness and fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke steps forward next, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I’ve got my inhaler,” He says, not really showing them. But they’ve all seen it enough times anyway. “I just. It’s been such a burden my whole life. I want it gone." They all nod, because they know he’s really talking about more than just the inhaler. It lands in the bowl with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clink</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton doesn’t step forward, but they all look to him anyways. He clears his throat and pulls the paper out of his back pocket. “This is Georgie’s sailboat,” He says. “I found it with his raincoat when we were down here. It’s all I’ve had left of him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ash,” Calum warns, but he’s not going to listen. He knows what he’s doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets it in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, mine might take a bit more of an explanation,” Calum says, also pulling out a folded piece of paper. “This is a page from a songwriting journal I had as a kid. I was just really alone before I met you guys, so this is how I coped. This is the last song that was in the journal, dated a week before I met you all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael reaches his hand out for the page. Calum hands it to him and they all gather around as Michael unfolds it, reading over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The page is filled with lyrics about feeling lost, stuck, being alone, wanting to get out, and Ashton’s heart aches for the boy Calum was. It breaks for the man Calum is. The only one of them left here, while they all went off to move on and forget, leaving him alone again. Ashton’s struck with so many realizations all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He understands why he could never write about Audra, and why his name sounded so different, better, coming from Calum’s mouth. He understands why Calum sounded so hesitant calling him, and why his own marriage has always felt, not like a lie, but like a lead-up to something better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realizes that he has so many things to talk to Calum about if they make it out of this. He realizes that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to make it out of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s fucking depressing,” Michael says and hands the paper back to Calum. Calum smiles, a real smile that makes his eyes crinkle, and it’s so infectious that Ashton has to smile as well. He wants desperately to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck it</span>
  </em>
  <span> and pull Calum aside, tell him everything he’s feeling right now because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to find the words later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Calum’s setting the paper in the bowl and pulling out a small canister of lighter fluid from his bag, which he also pours into the bowl. He takes out a box of matches and lights one, looking around at them one last time, and drops it in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small flame comes alive, barely enough to throw shadows against their faces. Instinctually, subconsciously, they reach up to join hands, connecting their circle. Ashton feels a small bolt of energy flash through each of his hands, traveling up his arms to meet in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Turn dark to light,” Calum says, quietly. “Turn dark to light."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s voice joins him, as does Luke’s, and finally Ashton’s. Their voices crescendo, bouncing off the walls to greet them again, pouring into the bowl at the center to bring the flame higher. Ashton can feel something happening, can feel his mind detaching, distancing from his body. He only vaguely feels Luke and Calum’s hands clasped in his. He sees lights and silhouettes, children riding bikes and splashing around in the quarry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flame reaches a peak, and goes out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that supposed to happen?” Luke whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rumbling sound fills the air, like thunder, and then it cracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton whips around, and has to look up to see the full picture of what’s right in front of him. Because that sure is Pennywise, except now it’s probably 90 feet tall and has the legs of a spider. A scream gets stuck in Ashton’s throat because, really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ash</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Someone screams, as he sees It raise one of it’s claws towards him. He brings his arms up to block his face; he doesn’t think he has anywhere to run. It strikes at his shoulder, knocking him back so his head hits the wall with a nauseating </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s disoriented and dizzy for a moment but regains his wits quickly. Taking a survey of the room, Michael and Luke are huddled together in a shadowed crook of the room. Calum is standing a few feet away from them, looking at Ashton like he wants to run over to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t you fucking dare</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks around himself, seeing if there’s something he can use, because they can’t just stand there and do nothing. They came to fight, to kill. But there’s nothing in arms reach and he’s having a bit of a hard time forming a plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Michael, wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Luke screams. Ashton looks up, ignoring the dizziness that moving his head brings, and sees that Michael has somehow found another goddamn baseball bat and is running towards It.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum’s running at It’s other side, wielding a pipe, and it’s almost comical. Two David’s against one Goliath. Ashton’s hopes are sinking, but he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way over to Luke, who’s clutching what looks like the pointy end of a fencepost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke,” He says. Luke looks over at him with wide eyes, silently asking for Ashton’s guidance. “Do you want me to take that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s brow furrows as he looks at the post in his hands. Ashton hears Michael and Calum yelling something and fights the urge to hurry Luke along. That could end in tears or a panic that Ashton can’t deal with right now. But Luke seems to come to a decision, looking back at Ashton resolutely. “No,” He says. “No, I can do it. Take this." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another pipe is shoved into Ashton’s hands as he and Luke turn to where the other two are dodging It’s grotesque talons. They tread slowly, trying to determine the best way to attack so they can actually land a hit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns towards Calum, claw geared back as if it’s about to punch him, and Ashton’s seized with panic. Calum’s not running away, not looking for an out or gearing up to attack. He’s just standing there, daring it to hit him and Ashton wants to scream at him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking move</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t get to, because Michael’s stepping up to it, something like a rock in his hand, and yelling, “Hey, dickhead," Pennywise turns its head to him. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. You wanna play truth or dare? Here’s a truth: </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re a sloppy bitch!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yeah that’s right, you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a loud booming sound as It opens its mouth and a light flashes out. Ashton sees Michael’s eyes go dead, completely white, as his face slackens and his arm falls to his side, dropping the rock. He’s lifted up as everyone stares on in horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton hears a sharp breath from behind him before Luke is running forward and launching the fencepost at It with a grunt. The post hits its target in the center of It’s mouth, knocking it back and jolting Michael free. He falls the few inches to the ground, landing on his knees, and Calum immediately makes his way over to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton would too, except he’s stuck watching where Luke is still standing, unsure of what to do now that he has nothing to defend himself with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It recovers, gears up, lashes out. Ashton thinks he screams as it catches Luke’s shoulder, pushing him to the side. Luke clutches at where Ashton can see that his shirt is torn, and probably his skin, too. He stumbles a bit and falls. Another figure joins him; Micahel, dropping to his knees, face pale, grabbing frantically at Luke’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton looks over at Calum, who looks helpless and lost. He feels like they’ve reached a stalemate. Not even a stalemate; they’re going to fucking lose. Ashton wants to reach out to Calum, hold his hand and kiss his cheek and say everything he didn’t get to say before they meet their end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Calum’s eyes clear, widen, and he looks around at them. He’s remembered something. His lips move, but it’s too quiet for anyone to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they move again and he’s telling them, “Make It small! Make It feel small!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael looks confused, but Ashton understands. Do to It what It did to them, for so many years. What everyone did to them. What everyone did when they ignored them, teased them, tripped and pushed them. Make It feel the way they’ve been feeling their whole lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum looks back at It. “It’s just a clown,” He says. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just a fucking clown!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just an old woman,” Ashton says, remembering times he saw It as a child, disguised as teachers and neighbors who did nothing for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>A weak leper!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Luke yells from his place on the ground. He struggles to his feet, with Michael grabbing his arm to help him up. They make their way over, standing next to Ashton who’s moved over to Calum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>A bully!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Michael shouts. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>A stupid fucking clown!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s staring at them, looking between them all, jolting forward as if to hit them, but they stand their ground. They’re not going to give it power any longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A dumb fucking clown!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A clown!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bully!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Coward!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A headless boy!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“A teenage girl!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just a fucking clown!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They hurl insult after insult, name after name, at It, backing it against a wall as it thrashes around and shrinks. Luke hurls one last </span>
  <em>
    <span>Weak fucking clown!</span>
  </em>
  <span> at It and It jerks, stumbles, and falls. They advance as It shrinks, strange gurgling sounds coming from It’s mouth, until it’s no bigger than a baby. It’s humongous forehead is deflated, and It’s tiny hands are reaching out feebly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s not sure what to do now, but he doesn’t think he has to worry as Calum steps forward and bends down in front of it. It’s hands swat at him, but it’s arms aren’t long enough to reach and Ashton has to bite back a laugh at how pathetic it looks. It flinches like it can read Ashton’s thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum reaches his hand out, plunging it into It’s chest. Ashton’s shocked at how easily it goes through, like his hand just passed through water. It lets out a horrible shrieking sound, distorted and pained. Luke flinches as Michael cringes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum pulls his hand back, and in it he’s grasping It’s heart, dark and pulsating. He looks up at them, inviting them to do it with him, to finally be rid of It. Ashton reaches out and cups his hand around Calum’s. Luke lays his over top the heart, and Michael rests his on top of Luke’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, they squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tighter and tighter, digging their fingers in as It screams in agony. There’s a pop and the heart bursts, spilling dark blood down their hands. They drop it and look back over to where It’s gone silent, looking on in fear and anguish. It shakes, practically vibrates. It looks at them and smiles. And then it seems to break apart into dust, floating through the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton looks around at his friends, his family, and feels like he could cry. His chest is full of so many things: pride, love, adrenaline, </span>
  <em>
    <span>freedom</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s never felt more alive. Calum’s shoulders have dropped in relief, eyes shining. Michael’s smiling and holding Luke’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s still grabbing at his shoulder, which Ashton now sees is leaking quite a bit of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Ashton says, holding his hand out for Luke. “Let’s go clean that up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke lets out a small laugh, more of breathy sob, and walks over to Ashton, fitting himself into the older boy’s side. Michael and Calum join them, and they walk out together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” Luke asks through a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re set to leave in a few hours, to fly back to Chicago, where Michael’s next show is, but Michael had insisted he show Luke something before they took off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll see,” Michael insists, swinging their joined hands between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke doesn’t press any further, just smiles and turns his face up to the sunshine. Two days after the fight and his shoulder was healing fairly well. Everything felt so right. After a couple phone calls with Myra and his lawyer, and a frustrated outburst of throwing his wedding ring into the quarry, Luke felt like he was walking on air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, after a few conversations with Michael, filled with crying and confessions, he felt the lightest he’s ever felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t figured out everything, with his job and going back to get his belongings, if there’s any left by the time he gets there. But he figures he and Michael can figure that out another day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael pulls him to a stop, and Luke registers that they’re in front of the kissing bridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles and jokes, “We’re not carving our names into this, Mike."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “We don’t have to." He crouches down and Luke follows. Michael grabs Luke’s hand and brings it to the bridge, tracing his finger over a worn set of initials.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>M + L</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you do this?” Luke whispers, still running his finger over the letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“27 years ago,” Michael answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke looks at him, a tear running down his cheek. Michael looks embarrassed, ashamed, worried. Too many things that he shouldn’t be feeling, in Luke’s opinion. He sets his hands on Micahel’s cheeks, forcing the older boy to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael,” He breathes, and kisses him. It’s something he’s dreamt of doing for years now, and he figured it would feel bigger. Fireworks and butterflies and racing hearts. But it just feels right, like they’ve been doing it their whole lives. Michael’s lips pressing softly against his feels like the stars aligning and everything settling into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls back and slowly opens his eyes to find Michael already looking at him, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re gonna miss our flight,” He whispers, brushing his thumb against Michael’s cheekbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael laughs and takes his hand back, standing them up. “Do you want to take a picture of it? Since we’ll probably never come back again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke laughs, but he shakes his head. “No. I don’t need to. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of reminders of how much you love me every day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t count on it, loser."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just laughs again and pulls Michael back in the direction of the hotel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashton’s sitting in his living room, sunlight streaming in through the windows, papers and laptop strewn about in front of him, hand holding a phone up to his ear. The hand that’s peacefully free of his wedding ring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” He says into the receiver. “We’ll be up to visit you and Michael once the book is done. It shouldn’t be too much longer now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A coffee mug is set in front of him, and he shoots Calum a grateful smile as he takes a seat next to him on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Love you, Lukey,” He hangs up and turns to Calum, bringing him into his arms and kissing the top of his head. He breathes in, savoring this moment even though he knows there will be so many more like it. The silence of the room just feels comforting, giving them a space to exist with each other. Contentment fills Ashton to the brim and he squeezes Calum a little tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think this one’s gonna be really good, Ash," Calum says, lifting his head away from Ashton’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The book?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum nods. “The ending’s really good. I think it wraps up nicely, without being either too clear-cut or open-ended," Ashton hums, not really caring about the book or how it does. He wrote it in a frenzy, in less time than he had ever written before. His editors have seemed to love it so far, most edits being grammatical or continuity errors that were easily fixable. “I’m really proud of you,” Calum says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashton looks back to him and smiles, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Calum hums and pulls himself away. Ashton lets out a displeased sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calum laughs and ruffles his hair, bending down to rest his lips softly against Ashton’s forehead. “I’m gonna go make dinner, yeah? I’ll tell you when it’s done."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Ashton whispers, grabbing his hand loosely as he walks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts the papers away for now, telling himself that he’ll edit a bit more before bed. Instead, he joins Calum in the kitchen, sitting at the table and watching him cook. His chin rests in his hand as he thinks about the turn his life has taken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely remembers their time in Derry already, even though it’s only been a few months since they left. He’s sure that, eventually, most of the memories will fade completely, along with the ones from his childhood again. And he’s not really sure how he feels about that. He doesn’t think he’ll lose Luke or Michael, again. And any part of himself that he might lose is probably for the better. Derry wasn’t kind to him anyways; it took too much and never gave him anything worth keeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up at the same time Calum shoots him a smile small, swaying softly to the music playing from the radio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it gave him one thing worth keeping.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>well, thank you so much to anyone who read and supported my little niche writing. if anyone likes this enough, i might do some more in this universe, like other scenes from the movie or book. if anyone wants that!!<br/>you can find me on tumblr @escapesos<br/>kudos and comments are always appreciated &lt;3</p><p>title taken from os/co by 5sos</p></blockquote></div></div>
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